


grace requires nothing

by thisisdefinitelynotme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Returns, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dean Prays, Ficlet, Fix-It, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Season/Series 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 23:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12398025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisdefinitelynotme/pseuds/thisisdefinitelynotme
Summary: It had been two weeks and three days exactly since Castiel had been murdered.But that didn’t matter.Because it had been four hours since Castiel had returned once again.





	grace requires nothing

**Author's Note:**

> come jump in the emotions pit with me, friends

A holy war we're losing, and yet somehow much more dear  
As I spend my whole life searching desperately  
To find out grace requires nothing  
Grace requires nothing of me

\- Sleeping At Last, "One"

 

It had been two weeks and three days exactly.

Two weeks and three days since Castiel had been murdered.

Two weeks and three days since Dean had slept more than two uninterrupted hours without having vicious nightmares, since Sam had eaten a full meal, and since Jack was born.

In two weeks and three days Dean never once left the empty chilliness of the bunker; the only way he even knew how much time had passed was because he felt every single hour that went by without the angel like a knife in his heart.

The first night back at the bunker Dean drank all of the generous supply of alcohol, until he blacked out. This was, of course, after he had found the mixtape in Cas’ truck, already clearly worn from having been played. He hadn’t had anything else to drink since, mainly because he hadn’t left the bunker to buy any more, and Sam knew better than to do such a thing. (Sam, meanwhile, spent many days drowning his sorrows at bars.)

Jack, of course, hadn’t learned the full range of the very human emotions of sorrow and grief, but, in two weeks and three days, he had learned plenty.

Paradoxically, though Dean couldn’t even walk past Cas’ room, he called his phone at least once every hour to hear his voice on the voice mail message. Within one day Dean had left enough messages to fill up the mailbox. But he kept calling, just to hear that voice again. He also tried praying to Chuck again, but when that didn’t work, he prayed to Cas. Cas was, after all, the only one who always heard Dean’s prayers.

It had been two weeks and three days exactly since Castiel had been murdered.

But that didn’t matter.

Because it had been four hours since Castiel had returned once again.

He was worn-down and wore a trench coat and tie that Dean had never seen before. His beautiful blue eyes were blank, not in the emotionless way they were when the two had first met, but in the way that happens when one has finally reached their limit to horrible things they could experience and see. When Dean hugged him (the first time), he didn’t hug back, as though he was too shocked to even move.

But Cas was, for better or worse, _back_.

During those four hours, Sam, Dean, and Cas (Jack did understand that this was a Winchester moment) didn’t speak so much as they merely existed with one another, living in each other’s presence. Dean made sure to sit beside Cas, with some part of him always in contact with the angel, just as a reassurance that he was, in fact, alive.

The end of those four hours, though, saw Dean and Cas alone for the first time. The first thing Dean said was a breathy, “ _I love you_.” Then he grabbed Castiel and hugged him tighter than he ever had, and this time – this time, Cas hugged back, just as tightly.

They clung to each other as though they’d never let go, as though if they separated then Cas would disappear again only to never return.

Each held on like he was drowning, and the other was salvation from the water.

Dean didn’t know what time it was anymore. All he knew was that, suddenly, a burden had been lifted from him, and he was exhausted. Cas, from the look of his deflated composure, obviously felt the same. Parting just enough to walk, Dean led Cas to the seraph’s own room, free of empty beer bottles and debris from objects destroyed in anger, unlike the hunter’s own room. He pulled the angel onto the bed, neither bothering to remove any layers, and there they positioned themselves underneath the covers as close as was possible. The sheets were the barrier that separated them, not only from the damp air in the bunker, but also from reality: Mary was still gone, hell was in shambles, and Lucifer’s son, who instead claimed Castiel, was sleeping a few hallways away.

Right now, under the sheets, none of that mattered.

Dean held Cas close, feeling the unfamiliar fabric of this different trench coat; the warm, firm, and living body underneath it; and the puffs of air against his neck. This body felt so different from the last time he held it, wrapped in a different sheet and placed on a hunter’s pyre. Cas’ body was cold and stiff.

Now it was warm, and Dean never intended to let go.

He placed a delicate, shaking kiss on the seraph’s forehead. As Dean drifted off to sleep for the first time in two weeks and three days, he heard Cas say, “ _I never stopped hearing your prayers_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks guys


End file.
